Black Souls
by cat2795
Summary: After the close of the Oblivion Crisis, the Champion of Cyrodil exiles herself to Cloud Ruler Temple. Shaken by all that has happened to her, she must now deal with a powerful, potentially sinister secret that she has harbored for years. Pls R&R, thanks!
1. Chapter 1

The Champion of Cyrodil cast Redwave over the edge of the snow-covered mountain. It caught a flash of sunlight upon its flank as it fell, reflecting back to the Champion its crimson glow, momentarily blinding her, before it toppled down the face of the mountain and out of sight. The Champion gave a sigh of relief, resting her quick, slender hands upon her hips and gazing over the wide expanse of land which lay tantalizingly beyond the Jerall Mountains. This land was called Skyrim, the frosty, bitter, vicious domain of the Nords.

After standing there for a bit, reflecting on what she had just done, she turned around and began expertly to descend the slippery, harsh face of the mountain. Here, in the land surrounding, containing, and lying just north of Bruma, the bitter cold and rampant snow that were commonplace in Skyrim seeped ever so slightly into the heavily forested land of Cyrodil. The champion now surveyed the verdant expanse of that land, a tall white spire in the center of the land assuming dominance over all else, wondering if there was a single person in it did not know her name, or at least the actions which she had performed just three months before.

She was known universally by that title- the Champion of Cyrodil, but before that, in a time almost unrecognizable and unimaginable to her heavily-affected memory, she had been Melissa. She had been a prisoner, hidden away deep beneath the Prison District of the Imperial City, left to rot, left to die, left to exist forever in ignominy. _How wonderful it was…, _Melissa thought, hopping over a boulder and fixing her gaze upon Cloud Ruler Temple, which was all but invisible behind a dense sheet of white.

But then, of course, fate had intervened. She had been rescued, albeit indirectly, by none other than the Emperor of Tamriel himself- Uriel Septim VII! Of course, she had barely gotten a chance to thank him or even speak with him at any great length before he was cut down by the group of assassins he had been attempting to evade- the Mythic Dawn. But only moments before his death, he had set her upon a monumental quest. He had given her the Amulet of Kings, an artifact that Melissa had only ever read about in books.

Melissa circled around the perimeter of the stone temple until she came to the heavy gate. Upon gaining entrance, she ascended the steps that led to the entrance of the temple, the sounds of swords ringing and clanging and sharpening circling about her, cutting sharply, like a blade through butter (or ice) through the thin, cold mountain air. As she approached the door, she was overcome by an onslaught of memories- of Jauffre, of Martin…

Three months ago, she could have walked in through that wooden door into the main room of the temple and seen Martin, his nose buried in one of several books stacked upon a table on the right side of the room. Melissa felt a pang of sadness. Entering now, only the stack of books remained, seeming to Melissa more of a monument to Martin than the large golden statue of Akatosh that stood valiantly among the ruins of the Temple.

A large fire was roaring at the back of the room. Melissa drew closer to it, hoping to banish the chill from her bones. She felt some relief as she stood next to it, absorbing the warmth and allowing herself, only if for a moment, to be overcome by positive, happy feelings and thoughts. Two Blades who had just concluded their sword practice for the day came in through the door and settled at a table, beginning pleasantly to converse over a bit of bread and ale. She heard the sound of a quill scratching excitedly upon parchment, turning to see Belisarius sitting at a table near her, writing. He noticed her observing him, and gave her a smile and a wave before returning once again to his work.

This temporary respite from the painful onslaught of memories that Cloud Ruler Temple brought her was interrupted most harshly when her eyes wandered to the floor on which she stood, and she saw the burn mark that had been left in it when a portal to Mankar Camoran's Paradise had been opened there.

Melissa redirected her train of thought before she could recall her trip there, where she had retrieved the Amulet of Kings and killed Camoran. She thought of a time before her arrival in Cyrodil, a time when she had resided in Morrowind. She remembered the Grasslands on the eastern side of Vvardenfell, near Vos. She remembered the wizard towers, and the eccentric mages who inhabited them. She began to remember the yurt before quickly stopping herself, and focusing once more upon the fire.

She stood there for a few more minutes before sighing deeply and departing for the door to the West Wing, where the dormitories were. Moments later, she was collapsed on a bedroll in the far corner of the dormitory, thinking pensively about the glistening blade now buried deep in snow and pine needles at the foot of a towering mountain. It had seemed innocent enough in spite of its arcane power, but she had soiled it with something much darker and more terrible than what even the darkest mages could accomplish.

She was interrupted by the entrance of Caroline, a guard who spent most of her day guarding the door to the temple.

"You're back even earlier than I thought you'd be," she said, setting her sword and scabbard in the corner and resting herself upon her bedroll. Melissa wondered for a moment if she'd made a mistake telling Caroline about her morning journey, but the two had formed a fast friendship during the time that Melissa had been staying at the Temple, and she figured that if she could trust anyone, it would be her. Of course, she hadn't told her the reason for her journey. That was best kept to herself, no matter how much she trusted the young Breton.

"I didn't expect to be very long," Melissa replied, sitting up on her bedroll and turning to face Caroline.

"Probably for the best," the guard replied, removing her helmet and leaning on her elbow, "the less time one spends in the cold, the better…"

_ If only she knew, _Melissa thought.

"Of course," Caroline continued, "the same could be said for the Jeralls. The land's becoming less safe than it used to be… You never know what could be lurking about out there…"

"The life of a Blade, I suppose," Melissa said, smirking and turning over a small iron dagger in her fingers and saying no more. Caroline could see that her friend was occupied irrevocably with her thoughts and laid down upon her bedroll, entertaining her own for a few moments before drifting off into a well-deserved sleep.

Melissa waited until she was sure that the Breton was asleep before reaching over and grabbing a tiny burlap sack. She held it closed for a bit, shifting it in her palm along with the dagger and contemplating its contents with equal measures of horror and amazement. One of these contents in particular had only been in her life for a little over three months, but was part of a legend that stretched back before the dawn of time. With a feeling that sat perilously between trepidation and glee, she opened the sack and extracted a jagged metal star. She dropped the sack and the dagger, holding the star close to her chest and tracing her fingers along the sharp edges. It shone a heavenly silver. It was, as many would attest, legend. But somehow, Melissa thought to herself with a knowing smirk, she had woven herself into quite a few legends over the past few months, and she had the feeling that she would become a part of a great many more before she enjoyed the sweet, cool repose of the grave. So she thought as she entered into a sleep as icy as the wind that howled outside.


	2. Chapter 2

The Champion awoke early the next morning with a terrible ache in her back. She wearily opened her eyes and saw first that the jagged star which she had been admiring the previous night was still clutched in her hand. She gasped quietly and hid it away once more in the burlap sack. After standing up and surveying the room, and finding to her relief that all of the Blades in the room were asleep, Melissa gathered up the sack and strode out of the room without making a sound.

That had been close- too close. Even if most of the people stationed at Cloud Ruler Temple would not recognize the star for what it truly was, she couldn't risk it being seen by anyone, even someone like Caroline or Belisarius. True, most people would not recognize Azura's Star as a powerful Daedric artifact, but its very appearance seemed to exude a mysterious, celestial power. Melissa adopted a grim look as she swept through the Great Hall, and decided that it would need to be hidden.

Luckily, her body had most likely covered it up while she was sleeping, so she wouldn't have to further compromise her position by providing some ridiculous explanation to her dorm mates. If she had to improvise such a story in front of one of the Blades, she would either choke and end up telling them everything, or inadvertently convince them that she was hiding a mountain of stolen gold. That could not happen. The more covertly she went about this, or any other matter, the better.

She exited the temple and descended the laborious stone steps that led to the heavy main gate. The guards all knew her, and that she had a habit of going for frequent strolls, no matter what ungodly time of the day it was, so she was likely to avoid any trouble.

She tied the burlap sack to her belt and began massaging her neck, hoping to work out the monstrous kink that had situated itself there. She waved to the guard that was stationed on the wall above the gate, and pushed through it. She was met with a bitterly cold gust of air, which carried upon its treacherous breath a good deal of fresh snow. It speckled the front of her dark uniform, assimilating her and drawing her further and further into its frosty domain. Melissa spat and brushed some of the snow off of her front.

The burlap sack bounced on her knee, the jagged edges of the Star occasionally pricking her through the fabric. Next to it was sheathed a small blade, quite sharp and impossibly potent. She had acquired it during her tenure in an organization as old as it was feared: the Dark Brotherhood. They had found her months before, not too long after her escape from the Prison District in the Imperial City. A petty thief had pickpocketed a small amount of gold off of her while she was walking through the streets of Cheydinhal. This had caught her off guard, as the last place that she, or anyone, would ever expect to be robbed was Cheydinhal, with its pleasant and perfectly manicured streets, lined with beautiful shops and peaceful-looking people. However, Cheydinhal was a city that hid many a secret, as Melissa would learn soon enough.

She had attempted to speak forcibly to the bandit to get him to return the gold. When he began to attack her, she had no choice but to draw her blade and defend herself. She ended up spearing him directly through his chest, killing him within a split second. Luckily, it had been the middle of the night, and the street that she was walking on was free of onlookers. She promptly disposed of the body in a nearby sewer grate, and returned to Newlands Lodge, where she was staying.

She was woken up a few hours into a fretful sleep by a shadowy figure standing at the foot of her bed. She began to panic, but he calmed her down, reassuring her that he was not there to harm her, and introducing himself to her as Lucien LaChance. LaChance was the Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood, and had come to recruit her after her "admirable elimination of that blasted pickpocketer". Terrified in spite of his benevolent intentions (well, besides being a spokesman for the Dark Brotherhood and all…) Melissa had agreed to kill a helpless old man named Rufio in order to confirm her place amongst the servants of Sithis.

She did the Brotherhood's bidding, killing many a human being and accumulating quite a large fortune. Targeted killing, she had discovered, was a most lucrative trade in the land of Cyrodil (or wherever the Dark Brotherhood took their grim refuge). Before too long, however, things went awry (another memory that she wished to avoid), and she lost her good friend Lucien LaChance. But she emerged on the other end the savior and the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. She continued to collect a respectable little sum from Arquen at the Brotherhood's headquarters beneath the Abandoned House in Cheydinhal as a reward for visiting the tomb of the Night Mother in Bravil and reporting the names of those poor souls who were destined to join Sithis in the Void.

One of the things that she had inherited from LaChance was his blade, which hung now at her side as she navigated a little stretch of snow-covered land east of Bravil. The wind was less oppressive now that she was a little further inland, but it was still enough to send a small chill down her spine. A few moments later, she was greeted by a terrifying, familiar sight. This was none other than the Siege Crawler that she, Martin, Jauffre, the Blades, and the Bruma Guard had fought valiantly against and prevented from decimating Bruma as it had Kvatch. Here, an Oblivion gate had opened, into which Melissa had gone and, against all odds, closed. The people had bestowed upon her yet another title to join her numerous others- the Savior of Bruma.

She stood before the twisted monstrosity, looking over at the spot where Jauffre and Burd had lain dead at the close of the battle. One rested now in the yard of Weynon Priory outside of Chorrol, and the other in the catacombs of the Chapel of Talos in Bruma. She bowed her head in respect for the dead, tossed a single gold coin in the snow, and walked solemnly away.

She came to a small wooded area a few paces away from the site of the battle, and locked her eyes upon a rotted tree stump at the foot of a small hill. She jogged over to it dropping the burlap sack in the snow and falling to her knees. She began to dig through the snow and earth at the base of the trunk, soon exposing a small tunnel that appeared as if it had been dug by a rodent, and that wound up into the body of the stump. Melissa smiled, dumping the contents of the pack (a few gold pieces, a wrapped filet of salmon, a couple emerald rings, and a flame scroll) onto the ground and taking up the Star. She stuffed into the sack and tied it up firmly, jamming it deep into the body of the trunk. She filled the hole and placed a few rocks and pieces of foliage where it had once been, so as to make it appear inconspicuous.

Melissa set off once more for Cloud Ruler Temple feeling quite satisfied. Few people went off of the main trail near Bruma except to hunt, and the hunters of Bruma knew better than to get involved in anything mysterious.

She made good time, ascending the stony little trail that wound up to Cloud Ruler Temple with a comfortable haste. She breathed in the sharp, cold morning air and found that it was not at all unpleasant. Melissa thought longingly of her sparse bedroll in the dormitory, anxious to reenter the land of dreams. Her comfortable reverie was interrupted suddenly by a queer noise. She could not quite make out what it was over the incessant and cacophonous howling of the wind.

Melissa continued along the trail cautiously, listening to the continued moaning noises and attempting, not without some hardship, to discover their origin. However, her years of travel and reckless adventuring had only been kind to her senses, and she soon found herself straying off of the main path and proceeding into a small thicket of trees, one hand positioned at her side, ready to draw the Blade of Woe if needed.

The pained noises grew progressively louder and louder until Melissa became aware of a man-sized, shuddering form huddled against the side of a tree. She grew ever more cautious, focusing on the pained being and readying herself to strike if necessary. But as she drew closer, she observed that he was not clothed in necromancer's robes or cheap iron armor… but in _Blades armor…_ Melissa quickly abandoned all apprehensions and rushed over to the man.

She knelt beside his shuddering form and turned him over. He was young, probably no older than twenty-five, with immaculately cut brown hair and a matching beard, and he was bleeding profusely from under his armor in the stomach region. His eyes were fixed desperately upon Melissa, and he was gurgling at the mouth.

"Can you speak?" Melissa asked, supporting him against the bulk of the tree and digging around in her bag for anything that might be of use, all while maintaining eye contact.

"Y-" he struggled, "_yes…"_

"What happened to you?" Melissa said, simultaneously applying a custom potion of hers to the site of the wound, "were you attacked?"

"_Yes,"_ he gasped, nodding weakly.

"By what?"

"I… _don't know…"_

Melissa shook her head slightly out of worry, all the while continuing to apply the potion to his wound. She could only do so much for him here- he would have to be taken back up to Cloud Ruler Temple. She figured that he could support himself, however weakly, on his legs, and that by the fruit of their combined efforts, they would reach the Temple safely. She related this to him and forced him onto his feet. They began limping up the hill.

"What is your name?" Melissa asked, looking over at the man as they lurched along. She was sure she had never seen him before.

"E-_Esbern…"_ he managed, swallowing and turning his gaze longingly in the direction of shelter.

(Author's note: Yes, I know that Esbern is from Skyrim. And yes, I know that Skyrim takes place 200 years after Oblivion. Just keep reading.)


	3. Chapter 3

Melissa looked down at Esbern where he lay upon the hard wooden floor of the dormitory at Cloud Ruler Temple. The roughness in his face that had been caused by the pain had subsided now, and she could see a good deal of fairness in his appearance. His hair, though clumped with sweat and dirt and snow, was a rich brown color, and seemed to shudder at the indignation of being bound up in a stuffy helmet. Though he possessed a good deal of facial hair, his face still appeared quite smooth. Melissa scratched her head. Surely such a man as this would feel more at home scribbling romantic songs and poetry, and wandering the sweeping plains north of Kvatch (or rather, what _used to be _Kvatch), rather than crossing blades with the enemies of the Empire and whiling away his youthful hours in the bitter cold of the Jeralls.

Crowded around him were several of his fellow Blades. Caroline and a young man with a face that was as sullen and gray as the side of one of the craggy, snow-encumbered mountains beneath which they dwelled worked on Esbern, sewing up his wound and administering the necessary potions and ointments. Esbern himself offered little in the way of communication beyond the occasional pained grunt or hushed "no" when one of his companions offered him a drink of Cyrodillic Brandy. Within minutes, their work was done, and he was carried over to one of the bedrolls in the corner. Caroline whispered a few words to him, and then left him in silence. Melissa kept her eyes fixed on him. She discerned after a few moments, due to his slow, rhythmic breathing and relative silence, that he was asleep.

"Sleeping potion," Caroline said. Melissa jumped- she had not seen her friend's approach, "Works rather quickly."

"I see," replied Melissa, "from where?"

"Novaroma in Bruma," Caroline said, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms, "they carry some surprising stuff. Luckily for me, Suurootan owes me more than a pretty penny… as well as a few limbs… But we don't mention that."

Melissa gave a slight chuckle and ran a hand contemplatively through her flaming red, shoulder-length hair. Her eyes darted back to Esbern. Caroline caught this.

"He's new, only arrived here just last night," Caroline mused, walking over to her bedroll and removing a slender bottle from within her pack, "we hadn't even given him any assignments yet. That's why we were so surprised to see him wounded…"

"What on earth happened to him?" Melissa asked, catching the bottle when Caroline threw it to her. Cyrodillic Brandy. She took a swig, and tossed it back to its owner.

"He took a warhammer to the gut, from the looks of it," Caroline said, "it's anyone's guess as to how he's still alive. I suppose he owes you his life."

Melissa looked over once more at the sleeping man. To be bound in gratitude for a life saved was a terrible, unholy connection. Like a reward for spitting in the face of Talos. Of course, whether it was worse for the one who had been saved, or the one who had done the saving, was beyond her.

"Did my potions do him any good?" Melissa asked.

"They must've, from the looks of it," Caroline said, corking the bottle and replacing it within the pack. "Probably helped to slow the bleeding, and to begin mending the tissue. He'll be good as new with a week's rest."

Melissa nodded and fell onto her own bedroll. She had done very precious little that day (at least when compared with her usual adventures), and yet she felt drained. She and Caroline carried on in idle conversation for few moments before Caroline went off to resume her guard duty. Melissa buried her face in the ratty pillow and felt herself sliding off towards sleep. Though she had only been awake for a couple of hours, she felt as though she had been single-handedly fending off an army of daedra for days on end. Sleep did not waste any time in coming to her, and she entered gladly into its warm, languorous domain.

She dreamt first of Morrowind. She dreamt of the fair grasslands of Vvardenfell and the rustic yurts that peppered their verdurous visage like a sort of graceful acne. Their inhabitants were as humble and fascinating as they were. Some were kind, generous, and docile. Most were hostile, and would chase you away with spears and pickaxes. But those beings only served to enhance the overall character of the land. Vvardenfell was nothing if not hostile and tricky, yet harshly beautiful. Once the scourge of the Red Mountain had been cleared, more of that beauty began to show itself. Those were the good times. That was the golden age, if ever there was one to grace the fractured progression of Melissa's existence.

These pleasing images became suddenly less frequent as Melissa wandered into a second dream. In this dream, the beauty was far more scarce and concentrated. It was focused, against an inky background, upon a shining, jagged artifact. _The Star of Azura_… There it was, in all of its heavenly glory, touched and blessed by the goddess herself, and infused with her mystical power. _But there is also the potential for evil… for darkness… There is always darkness, even when hidden away in favor of the glory of the sun. It is always there, waiting to take hold with the coming of the night… _Suddenly, the shining silver star began to change most drastically and dramatically. It was now as black as a necromancer's robe, its jagged edges reaching out to Melissa like haunted fingers, yearning to snare her soul and drag it into the foulest depths of Oblivion. Behind the ruined star, there now stood a man- robed and indistinguishable. There was a crooked laugh, and then the dream was over. Melissa's eyes shot open, and were surprised when they fell upon none other than Esbern, panting heavily, with one hand clutching his abdominal region and the other extended towards her.

"Esbern! Are you all right? What on earth are you doing awake and out of bed?"

"_Champion…"_he said, collapsing a bit, and supporting himself shakily on his palms_._

"Melissa," she said, raising herself up and sitting cross-legged on her bedroll. "What's the matter?"

"He… _you saw him, didn't you?_"

"Who is that?" Melissa queried.

Esbern began to reply, but before he could utter any recognizable sound, he was overcome by a violent fit of coughing. Melissa stood up and helped him back over to his bedroll. He lay spread-eagled upon its surface, a cool sweat glistening upon his fair skin. Melissa was just about to leave him to his rest when he called out:

"The man… in your dream!" he shouted, "the one in the robes… He's stolen something of yours!"

Melissa spun back around.

"How would you know such a thing?" Melissa said, squatting down next to Esbern and looking intently into his eyes.

"Well…" he coughed, "I c-can't say much about the object… _But I know that man… I- I know him…"_

Melissa raised her brow.

"How is that?"

"Because he's the one who bloody attacked me!"


	4. Chapter 4

Melissa rose early the following morning. This was not unusual for her, as more often than not, there was some pressing task that demanded that she leave the relative warmth of the temple and steal off into the bitter cold. This morning, it was Brotherhood business. As she strapped on her pack, she looked over at Esbern, fast asleep on his bedroll on the other side of his room. She remembered the particulars of their conversation the previous evening and shuddered._ Seems that even our dreams may no longer provide a safe haven… Troubling… _

She swept noiselessly through the Hall and into the cold, pulling her hood up over her head. Melissa remembered her shock at being told by the unfamiliar man that she had just saved that he was familiar with the mysterious robed individual that she had just seen in a dream. Not just any dream, but a dream concerning the Star of Azura, which, according to Esbern, had been stolen shortly after she had hidden it outside of Bruma. _A nightmare… _On her way to Bravil, she would check the hollow space where she had hidden it the previous day. Either Esbern was delirious after being given so many potions and remedies, or he had seen one of Melissa's worst nightmares play itself out in his head.

Shadowmere was waiting a short distance from the main gate. Melissa smiled, strode over to him, and mounted him. She felt some guilt at having neglected her trusty steed as of late, in favor of traveling by foot. However, the long trip to Bravil would make up for it. She patted him on his smooth, inky side and shifted upon the saddle until she was good and comfortable. Then, they began gracefully and majestically down the hill, the frigid air blowing Melissa's hood clean off her head and throwing her crimson hair to the wind.

Within a few breathless moments, they were at the spot where Melissa had hidden the Star. She bade Shadowmere stop, at which he looked somewhat miffed. She clambered down onto the ground, speeding over to the trunk and digging frantically in the earth. Sure enough, it was gone. Melissa was taken aback. She had hoped that Esbern's declaration was simply madness, and the result of too many potions taken at once, and had half believed it. But what she saw, or _didn't _see before her now provided nothing less than irrefutable proof: The Star had been stolen.

_Blood and ashes!, _Melissa thought angrily to herself, kicking a nearby mound of snow. She paced about, thinking all sorts of outraged, confused, speculative thoughts. Then finally, a second object of interest caught her eye. Peeking slyly out from the emptied-out hollow where the Star had once rested, there was a torn, damp bit of paper. Melissa hurried over and snatched it up, poring hungrily over it. There were no words written upon it. Instead, there was a symbol- an ink drawing of what appeared to be a tower, in front of which was a medium-sized flame. _What in Oblivion… _

Melissa stuffed the scrap into her pack with a minor amount of confusion. As she mounted Shadowmere and set off down the hill once more, she resolved to consult an old friend and contact of hers who just happened to reside in Bravil. _If any blasted individual in Tamriel knows, it will be Gilgondorin._

The road was exceptionally fair that day, and the miles seemed to melt away before Melissa's eyes. The dense snow to which she had become irritatingly accustomed as of late began to subside in favor of lush, verdant forests, balanced by rolling hills adorned with appealing flora and fauna alike. The White Gold Tower of the Imperial City asserted itself all the more clearly as she drew closer to it. She fancied that she could almost see the grand avatar of Akatosh where it stood proudly amongst the remains of the Temple. But this, Melissa reminded herself, was am irrational fancy and nothing more. She put that image, as well as all the people and events associated with it, out of her mind and focused on the striking country around her.

She hung right as she approached the lake that surrounded the Imperial City on all sides. This way, she could follow the edge of the lake around for a few miles to the Nibenay Valley. Here, she could quickly and painlessly traverse the small river that separated the valley and Bravil and make her way into the city.

This she did, her thoughts lying both with the mysterious scrap in her pack and the statue of the Lucky Old Lady in Bravil just a few miles away. Melissa surveyed the sky and the position of the sun as the walls of Bravil presented themselves to her vision. She had made good time- probably about two hours. Cyrodiil was fairly small, and not at all difficult to traverse, especially when blessed with so swift and steadfast a mount as Shadowmere. Within minutes, she was dismounting and striding towards the large, rusty gate that led into the city. _To business, _she thought, and passed through the gate, pulling her shadowy hood up over her head.

She knew Bravil well enough, having been charged with visiting the Night Mother and hearing her orders for quite some time now. She took note, as she always did, of the crumbling, rustic buildings that surrounded her on all sides. She nodded to an Argonian with whom she had carried on a conversation some time before, but who's name she, regrettably, could not recall.

Melissa approached the statue of the Lucky Old Lady humbly, attempting to ignore the stench of the sewer that filled the entirety of the town. A pity, Melissa thought, for otherwise, Bravil would have been fairly decent. She positioned herself before the statue and waited for that familiar, icy voice to pierce shrilly through her skull and inform her of the names of those whom would soon be serving Sithis in the Void. It came.

"_Greetings, Listener!" _the Night Mother said, the stench of death and decay sailing foully upon her invisible breath, "_more children have prayed to Sithis, and have pledged to him fresh soul to serve him forever in the terrible afterlife! Seek out 'He-Who-Stamps-His-Feet', an Argonian in Ald'ruhn in Morrowind! Shatiirr, a Redguard seeking refuge in the musty swamps of Black Marsh! Polonius Maximus, an Imperial residing in the Elven Gardens District of the Imperial City here in Cyrodiil! And finally, Uvierti Dren a Dark Elf who is a native of Vvardenfell in Morrowind, but who is currently skulking about in the village of Morthal in Skyrim! The Night Mother has spoken! Go now, my dear Listener, and inform Arquen! We mustn't keep our dread lord waiting!"_

Melissa nodded, and stalked away from the statue, attempting to gather her bearings as she usually had to after a conference with the Night Mother. _Poor bastards, _Melissa thought, entering the inn known as Silverhome-On-The-Water, _Oh well, must have pissed off somebody important. As long as I get some coin in my pocket, I suppose I haven't much ground for complaint… _

She locked eyes with the golden-skinned Altmer as soon as she entered the bar area. She broke uncontrollably into a smile and ran over to him, embracing him.

"You smell of death," Gilgondorin said, releasing her and leaning nonchalantly against the bar, "You've just been to see the Night Mother, haven't you?"

"Indeed, I have," Melissa replied, "Since when did you become so perceptive?"

"My dear, haven't I _always_ been?" he said, raising his eyebrow and putting his hand on his hip, "I expect you'll be wanting a room for the evening?"

"Yes, I shall. Along with a bottle of Cyrodiilllic Brandy, if you don't mind. How much will that run me?"

"Well, normally that would be fifteen gold," Gilgondorin said slyly, examining his fingernails and releasing a sigh, "_but we've got a five gold discount for sexy little redheads_…"

"Oh, you cheap bastard!" Melissa cried, punching him playfully in the ribs, "I'd get at least ten if I were in Suran!"

"Well, I could probably give you ten if you take me upstairs and do what you did to me that one night all those years ago… That was-"

"-_ancient history..."_ Melissa finished, eyeing him playfully, "Though to your credit, you certainly do know how to make a lady's toes curl."

"_Naturally,_" he said, returning Melissa's playful glare and straightening himself, "now what else do you have for me to look at, besides that cute little behind of yours?"

Melissa suddenly adopted a much graver look, reaching into her pack and pulling out the scrap of paper. It had dried a bit now, making the mysterious symbol scrawled on its front just slightly more legible. She handed it over to Gilgondrin.

"Strange symbols are your area of expertise," said Melissa, reclining against the wall and crossing her arms.

"One of my _many _areas of expertise," Gilgondrin replied, holding the piece of paper before his eyes and studying it for a few moments in silence. Melissa heard the weary conversation of the patrons in the background, and the sound of a broom scratching against a hard wooden floor. The ambience of the place lulled Melissa into a sort of lazy calm, making her think longingly of the comfortable bed waiting for her on the second floor.

"No question about it," Gilgondrin said, breaking his studious silence, "this particular symbol is related to a magical sect, loosely connected to the College of Winterhold up in Skyrim."

"Oh," Melissa said quietly, piqued, "and how do we know this?"

"Well, the basic symbol is that of the College. Pretty unmistakable, that is," he said, "but the flame is not quite right. It's been tampered with. Made to be associated with a certain sect located either in the Southern regions of Skyrim or the Northwest of Cyrodiil. Just which, though, I can't be sure…"

"Excellent," Melissa said, gritting her teeth, "another complication…"

"Might these rotten individuals have wronged you in some way, my fair lady?"

"Don't be an ass," Melissa snorted, "its not important. I can probably have the whole thing solved in a day or two…"

"Not _important?" _Gilgondrin said, approaching Melissa where she reclined, "You know, _I have ways of making you divulge such things…_"

"Just as I have ways of eviscerating you right here in front of all your patrons," Melissa said, pushing him away and grinning darkly, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll be getting some rest…"

"Well then, sweet dreams," Gilgondrin said, giving Melissa a little smack on the bottom as she turned and made off towards the staircase.

_Damned oaf, _Melissa thought, pushing through the door that led to the upper level of Silverhome. _But I suppose he has his uses…_

(To all of you who got the Wheel of Time reference early in the chapter (_"Blood and ashes!)_, take pride in knowing that you are special. Kindly remember to leave a review. More chapters soon!)


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